The Sparrow and the Ship
by ebonyandyew
Summary: Grainne O'Toole wanted this job to be easy. Needed this job to be easy. But what the witch hadn't told her, was making this difficult. And Grainne O'Toole didn't like difficult. (Golden Age of Piracy AU)


Grainne O'Toole took another bite out of her apple, her eyes following that damned set of black shoulders as they made their way through the crowds of the port of Havana.

_He should've known better than to be so obvious, _she thought, frowning.

He was making this far too easy.

She should just slip alongside and stick him in the ribs, just under his arm, and leave before this became too aggravatingly long-winded.

But she was under orders.

Another rough bite of the apple and it was nearly gone.

She ran her tongue in front of her teeth, deliberating, before tossing down the gnawed core and crossing her arms with a huff.

If the witch insisted Jones was killed on his own ship, he'd be dead on his own ship.

Either way, Grainne figured, he was about to enjoy the last night of his life.

She followed him at a safe distance.

Thirteen feet precisely.

Her height was the advantage with the thirteen feet. She was, admittedly, rather small, which suited her and her profession just fine.

Grainne practically dared him to look back over his shoulder.

He wouldn't see a damn thing.

She had gotten far too good at this for him to even feel the rising of hairs on the back of his neck.

Havana bustled, swayed, moved around her as she weaved through stalls and crowds, running her hands through the silks she could never afford, lifting and testing the gold chains she'd never wear.

Grainne was relieved when Jones finally took a turn to the seedier part of town, it would take less effort to remain invisible.

_No one asked questions when near-naked women began hanging out of windows. _

Grainne was at home here, where the music and the beer poured out onto the streets.

Jones and his men entered an alehouse called the Blind Archer, where the clatter and sound of heavy feet seemed particularly loud.

Sinking back against an alley wall with a small smile, she let Jones and his boys settle into their benches while she tied her hair back and loosened the strings of her blouse, letting the neck slide down her shoulders, while tightening the stays of her bodice.

_Just in case she didn't fit in already._

She tied them in a loose bow, and ducked into the tavern in the midst of two sailors fresh from the docks.

"Ello' there lass," The barrel chested, bearded one, laughed slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Wanted t' drink with the boys?"

Grainne smiled, raising an eyebrow.

"With? Nay, I'll out do em'."

The scrawny fellow rolled his eyes, while the other let out a thunder of a laugh, squeezing her tight to his side as he squared to the bar.

"Is tha' so? Well, let us see how ye' handle whiskey."

He rapped two knuckles and two shots of cheap rotgut were set down.

She knocked it back without a thought.

_Disgusting, but not bad. _

She set it down and motioned for another.

"Oh ho! Yeh' weren't kiddin'." He offered his calloused hand. "The name's Leroy, an' yers?"

"Grainne." She said, taking it. "Where ye' from Leroy?"

"Montserrat, you lassie?"

"Bridgetown." Grainne answered honestly.

She had considered lying, but Leroy seemed like a good man, and she'd never see him again, so there was truly no harm.

"Long way from home, eh?" Leroy's hand clapped down on her shoulder. "Don't worry, ye'll be fine, yer in good hands." He smiled.

She made a point to glance about, scanning for a pair of black-clad shoulders.

_Just my luck. _Grainne thought, seeing Jones in the far corner, entertaining some of the alewives.

She knocked back the second shot of whiskey and grimaced.

The quality of the grog had unfortunately, not improved.

Grainne shook her head to clear it, and gave Leroy a wry grin.

"Even with the pirates?" She asked, tilting her head to where Jones and his crew sat.

"Now, yeh can't be tha' scared of those, lassie, yer drinkin with one." Leroy chuckled.

"No, Leroy, surely not, not in a fine establishment like this." She said with a sarcastic tone of shock.

"Yer sharper than most, lassie-"

Leroy was cut off by his scrawny companion from before.

"Cap wants t' speak with yeh."

"Alright, Clegg, I'll be along in a momen'."

"Nah a moment, now."

Grainne's brow furrowed as Leroy walked off, but she rapped her knuckles on the bar anyways.

She was on the job, she needed the third.

A glance around the room showed what she suspected, Leroy was making his way over to where Jones was sitting.

_Damn. _

Or perhaps not, she thought, an eyebrow rising of its own accord.

Leroy's purse strings were old, certainly old enough to, lets say, _fray_, accidentally.

After he returned, the hours passed easily in conversation.

It was mostly honesty.

Mostly.

It weren' as if when he asked what she was doing here she could come out and say,_ "well Sir Swarthy-looking-pirate-man, I'm here to murder your captain, tha's all." _

So Grainne told a partial truth.

"Well, actually, I'm looking fer' my sister, Emma. She ran off a few years with her son Henry and now that Ma's dead, I figured it was time for her t' come home."

_It wasn't so bad as lies went. _

At least it had some grain of truth to it.

"Oh, 'M sorry love, that's rough that is." Leroy said gruffly, clapping her shoulder with a calloused hand, before raising another glass of whiskey. "Here's t' finding her."

Grainne clinked glasses with his with a hastily muttered "Sláinte."

Leroy's head seemed to perk up, as if he recognized something.

"Well, lassie, if I'm nah' mistaken I might actually know this one. Would yeh' do an old man a great favor an' put up with im' steppin on your toes?"

_Farewell to Princes' landing stage, River Mersey fare thee well_

_For I am bound for Port Royal, a place I know right well._

"I'd love to." Grainne smiled, slapping her hand into his.

For all the warning the witch gave, this was turning out to be disappointingly easy.


End file.
